Summer of '99
by ravenclawpride
Summary: One year after the war, Harry takes a holiday to figure out what he wants to do  with his life. An encounter with an old classmate leads to a life-changing summer. H/D, currently on hiatus. WILL BE COMPLETED!
1. Chapter 1

Harry entered his dark apartment, loosening his bow tie with one hand, flicking the lights on with the other. The first anniversary ball to celebrate the defeat of Voldemort had been as awful as he'd expected. He didn't understand why the Ministry chose to commemorate the worst battle in history with a black-tie gala in an opulent ballroom, complete with champagne and a speech from the Boy Who Lived.

That wasn't the worse of it, though. The worst part was seeing everyone he knew, getting on with their lives.

Hermione had announced she'd been offered a coveted position in the Department of Mysteries, fresh out of Hogwarts where she'd graduated with honours. Ron was about to start his second year of Auror training. Ginny and Luna had just finished repeating sixth year and was about to enter seventh. Neville had been accepted into a top Wizarding University in London, where he would study to become a Herbology Professor. Seamus and Dean had opened a pub together in Hogsmeade.

All his friends had grown up and moved on, and where was Harry? After the war, he'd helped re-build Hogwarts, which had taken a good three months. He'd then opted not to return for his seventh year, much to Hermione's disappointment. Of course, the offers had come pouring in- Auror Academy, Healer School, Wizarding Universities, all willing to give the great Harry Potter full scholarships, no NEWT certificate necessary. He'd declined them all.

Harry had no idea what he wanted to be, or do. Everyone had expected him to enter Auror School, graduate and become Head Auror by the time he was 25, ridding the world of all evil. But he'd decided he'd had enough chasing after dark wizards for one lifetime. He didn't want to be a Healer, or a Professor, or the next Minister of Magic either.

Even his back-up plan had failed him. Harry had always assumed if the Auror thing didn't work out, he could play Quidditch professionally. Flying had been one of his favourite things in the whole world, plus he was actually good at it. However, Harry had developed a phobia of flying since the Fiendfyre incident, and had discovered it at the most inopportune timing...

It was a beautiful fall day, and a charity Quidditch match had been organised to raise funds for the re-building of Hogwarts. Two teams had been arranged, and Harry was the seeker on one of them. He hadn't flown since the day of the battle and was looking forward to testing out his new Firebolt.

"_We're on in fifteen minutes, mate," Ron said, grinning as he tossed the Quaffle up and down. "Been awhile since we played Quidditch, eh?"_

"_Yeah, definitely. Should we warm up a bit?" Harry answered._

"_Sure, why not? Race you round the pitch?" Ron asked, swinging up onto his broom._

_Harry nodded and grinned, swinging a leg over the handle of his shiny new broom. He was about to push off when suddenly, the grass below him disappeared, to be replaced by giant, flaming dragons, their jaws snapping open and close millimetres away from his feet. Harry gasped and looked up. The Quidditch stands blurred together to become an enormous flaming red Chimaera, which let out a deafening roar, and swooped closer...so close Harry swore he was about to be burned alive, and he was sweating...someone was gripping him tightly around his waist and screaming in his ear...he couldn't breathe...the flames were closing in around him...it was so hot..._

"_Harry! Harry!" _

_Someone was shaking him hard. Harry opened his eyes and saw Ron peering over him, looking pale and scared. _

"_He's awake. Let him get some air." It was Hermione's voice, sounding very far away._

"_Harry, mate! Are you alright?" Ron asked._

"_What...what happened?" Harry whispered. He struggled to sit up straight, Ron helping him up. "Why am I on the ground?"_

"_Harry, are you alright?" Hermione had appeared next to Ron, and was now kneeling on the grass. She passed him a glass. "Here, have some water."_

_He took a drink and looked at Ron. _

"_You passed out, mate. When you got on the broom, you just...sort of fell off it and collapsed...and it looked like you were having a nightmare or something," Ron explained._

"_You kept grabbing your throat like you couldn't breathe. Are you feeling unwell?" Hermione asked worriedly. She turned to Ron. "Do you think the broom is cursed?"_

_Ron shrugged. "Kingsley and Flitwick are checking it now," he said, looking over his shoulder._

"_No. It's not cursed," Harry said hoarsely. _

_Ron and Hermione turned back to him questioningly. Harry placed a hand on his forehead and stared at the grass._

"_It was the Fiendfyre."_

Harry sighed heavily and sat down on the couch, reaching for the bottle of Firewhiskey on his coffee table. He poured himself a generous amount and took a long gulp. He needed to do something. He needed to get off his couch and stop watching Muggle television all day long while everyone he knew was out there doing something meaningful. He needed...a holiday.

X

"Well, I personally think it's great you're taking a holiday," Hermione said the next day when they met for their weekly coffee get-together at a Muggle café.

"How long will be you gone for?" Ron asked.

"Indefinitely, I guess," Harry replied, fiddling with the handle on his coffee mug. "Until I figure out what I want to do."

"Do you know where you'll go?" asked Hermione.

Harry shook his head. "No idea."

"I hear Australia is great," Ron said.

"It's winter there right now," Hermione added helpfully.

"No, I want somewhere warm. Definitely near the sea," Harry mused. He'd always been especially envious when the Dursleys jetted off to exotic locations when he was stuck in boring old Surrey.

"I'll look around and find something for you," Hermione said, looking excited at the prospect of research.

Half an hour later, Harry was ambling through the streets of London, having decided to take a walk before heading home. He'd spotted a supermarket, remembered he needed milk, and was now heading in that direction. Walking past some shops, a bright blue splash of colour caught his eye, and he turned to look...and stopped.

In the window of a travel agency was a large poster depicting a seascape—there were a row of tall buildings in a rainbow of bright and pastel shades lined up next to each other by a beach. Behind that stretched a grassy cliff, dotted with more buildings and villas. But Harry couldn't take his eyes off the sea- it was the most gorgeous shade of deep cerulean blue, stretching on seemingly forever to the horizon where it met with the cloudless sky, just few shades of blue lighter. He could imagine the colourful rowboats bobbing cheerfully in the water, the taste of the sea in the air and the sun beating down, making him feel warm and happy.

The words beneath the picture read 'Portovenere, Italy', and Harry grinned.

"Perfect."

He pushed open the door of the agency and entered.

X

Two weeks later, Harry was seated in the first class cabin of the plane bound for Italy. He'd decided he deserved some pampering after all he'd been through, and had treated himself to a first-class ticket, complete with champagne, leather-trimmed fully reclining seats and a personal TV screen. No international Portkeys or Floo for him, however much time he would have saved. After all, he could decide he wanted to be a pilot on the plane trip over.

Hermione and Ron had seen him off at the airport that morning. He'd said goodbye to the Weasley family and most of his friends the previous night at the Burrow, where Mrs Weasley had organised a going-away party.

Hermione had hugged him for the millionth time before he entered the departure lounge.

"Promise me you'll owl at least once a week," she had said.

"Oh, give it a rest, Hermione," Ron said, and rolled his eyes at Harry.

"Fine, once a fortnight," she conceded.

"I promise," Harry replied.

"Good luck, mate," Ron had said, giving him a warm hug. "Have fun; don't get into too much trouble."

Harry had picked up his bag, about to head inside, when Hermione handed him a wrapped parcel, sniffing loudly.

"Here, I got this for you. Open it on the plane. It's just something you could do if you get bored. Or whatever."

Harry took the parcel, hugging her one last time and left.

Now, on the plane, he took the parcel out and unwrapped it. Out fell two books.

_Of course,_ he thought.

One was a glossy Muggle book, titled _Job Guide: Finding your Perfect Profession. _The other was bright purple and emblazoned with flashing gold stars, with the silver title _From Auror to magiZoologist: An A-Z Guide to Careers in the Wizarding World. _Inside was a note from Hermione saying she'd charmed the cover to appear blank to Muggles.

Harry smiled. She really did think of everything.

Putting the books away, he leaned back in his automatic reclining chair and closed his eyes, envisioning the perfect blue sea and summer weather he'd soon be experiencing.

X

Draco Malfoy narrowed his eyes and peered out towards the blue sea that was stretched in front of him. He was seated on the beach, a sketchbook perched on his knees and a pencil in his hand. After several more minutes of staring at the sea without a single flash of inspiration, Draco threw his pencil down in frustration, brushed the sketchbook away and flopped back on the soft sand.

He gazed upwards at the cloudless sky, and then closed his eyes. He could hear the voices of the people walking on the boardwalk that ran along the beach, the laughs of the children playing nearby and the screech of the birds overhead.

After a while, he sat up again and snapped shut his sketchbook. Then he packed away his things and stood, deciding to head to his favourite gelateria. Perhaps he would be inspired while indulging in an espresso and a scoop of limone gelato.

TBC.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry awoke feeling refreshed and rested the next morning, after arriving early evening the previous day. He stretched leisurely in the single bed and breathed in the scent of the clean cotton linens for a moment before sitting up. The window was just by the bed, so Harry pushed open the bright blue wooden shutters and was met by the sight of the ocean and sky. He flopped back onto the bed and decided to lie in for a few more minutes while he decided what to do that day.

Harry was staying in a small, family-run boarding house that mostly catered to backpackers. He had a room to himself on the top floor and shared a bathroom with about four other guests on the same floor. His room contained a bed, a closet and a desk that also doubled as a dressing table with a mirror on the wall. Harry was planning to stay in Portovenere for some time and he had already tried to give his temporary home a lived-in atmosphere by littering his personal items around. His worn sneakers were lying haphazardly by the door, his clothes hung up in the closet and some books stacked on the desk. He'd stuck some pictures of his friends in the mirror frame, and a picture of his parents in a small leather frame sat on the wooden chair that acted as a bedside table.

Harry, still lying in bed while flicking through his travel guidebook, heard a bell ring downstairs, signalling breakfast was ready. The boarding house was run by an Italian family- Luigi,an easy-going man who always seemed to be smiling, his wife, Elena, an Italian version of Mrs Weasley, and their young teenage son. Harry had met them the previous night, as well as a few guests of the house, who had been enjoying cigars on the front patio when he arrived. He loved the atmosphere of the place, everyone was incredibly friendly and all got along well.

Harry got out of bed and dressed, then headed to the bathroom to wash up before going down the three flights of stairs to the ground floor. He took a seat at the big wooden table in the sunny kitchen and helped himself to some bread and coffee while making small talk with some of the other guests.

After eating, he returned to his room and took his bag out from the closet, throwing in his wallet, guidebook, and as an afterthought, one of the career guides Hermione had gotten him.

Harry headed to the stairs and bumped into Alessandro, Luigi's teenage son, carrying an armful of clean linens.

"Buongiorno, Signor Potter," he greeted politely.

"Buongiorno, Alessandro. Please, call me Harry," Harry replied. "Listen, I'm heading out. Do you have any suggestions about what I could do?"

"Of course, Signor Harry," he answered with a grin. "Give me a moment."

He hurried off and returned without the linens, handing Harry a pamphlet and rattling off tourist sites around town. Harry had already read about most of the tourist sites in his guidebook, but he took the pamphlet and thanked Alessandro anyway.

Heading outside, he spotted the beach across the road and grinned.

X

Draco watched the lady as she picked up a canvas and studied it intently. It was one of the smaller generic seascapes that were mainly targeted at tourists.

"Quanto?" she finally asked in American-accented Italian.

"Fifty Euros," Draco replied.

She seemed relieved that he spoke English and began to haggle for a lower price. They finally agreed on forty-three Euros, and she left satisfied with the painting while Draco put away the money carefully.

It had been a pretty good day. It helped that summer was starting -the busiest season of the year- and the little town was simply overflowing with tourists. During summer, Draco would take some of his smaller paintings down to the market by the beach and on a good day, could make a decent amount of money, depending on the types of tourists that came.

Another tourist couple came along and picked out one of the larger paintings that featured a colourful market scene as well as some small framed watercolours. After they left Draco, pleased, decided to pack up for the day before the afternoon heat started. The money from that sale alone was enough for a week's worth of supplies.

X

Harry wandered down the market on the boardwalk by the beach, looking at the wares that the vendors were selling and picking up a couple of small souvenirs for his friends.

Earlier that morning, Harry had gone to the beach and just sat there for a couple of hours, enjoying the view and the sounds around him-the loud chatter of the people in the cafés, children playing, and the birds. After that, he'd visited some tourist sites- a castle and a couple of old churches, but he didn't find them particularly interesting. The places were full of tourists, and besides, after Hogwarts, the buildings weren't that impressive.

He stopped by the market, and strolled around for a while, then decided to head to the town centre. He found a quiet, narrow, little street, lined on both sides with colourful two or three storey buildings, mainly containing small cafés and shops.

Harry decided to head into a small gelateria that served coffee and gelato. He ordered a cappuccino from the friendly waiter and sat down at one of the small tables outside. A wooden ceiling fan spun lazily overhead, and some quiet music played in the background. There was a large panoramic painting of the coast hanging on the wall, and Harry studied it as he waited for his coffee. The artist had really captured the image and colours beautifully.

He pulled out his guidebook and skimmed through it as he drank his coffee. Harry liked Portovenere, and planned on staying there for at least a couple of weeks while he thought of where to go next. He thought of travelling around Europe- it would be quite easy and fast with Portkeys. He made a mental note to write Hermione for more information about that. Finishing up his coffee, Harry left some money on the table and stood up to leave. Apart from a couple of elderly men playing chess and drinking coffee in the corner of the shop, he was the only customer. Harry smiled and decided he'd return to the gelateria soon.

X

Draco flicked off the lights and headed upstairs after checking the front door was locked one last time. Upstairs, he entered the tiny kitchenette and peered into the fridge, took out some ingredients and prepared a simple dinner. After eating, he sat down on his battered couch and counted that day's profits. Draco calculated he could afford to spend the next two days working in his studio if he went to sell at the markets for the next two days after that. Tired, he decided to head to bed early in order to get up early the next morning.

X

After the war, during the trials, Draco had been one of the few from the Dark side that had not been sent to Azkaban. He and his mother had narrowly escaped jail thanks to testimonies from Harry Potter. Lucius Malfoy now serving life in Azkaban, his mother living in Belgium with a distant cousin, and with the Malfoy Estate and fortune seized, Draco had been left practically penniless. He was sentenced to three months community service, which was spent re-building Hogwarts. After those three months, he discovered the hard way that no one in Wizarding Britain was going to hire him, so he left for Italy.

Draco had remembered the summers he spent as a child in Portovenere, the beautiful, sunny seaside town on the Italian Riviera. Remembering how happy he felt every time he was there, Draco had scraped together all the money he could get his hands on, arrived there with one small suitcase in hand, and within two days, found a job as a waiter in one of the many classy restaurants around.

With his knowledge of fine wine and cuisine, Draco soon started making a decent income. At first, he rented a tiny, cheap room in a decrepit, run-down building, couldn't use magic around Muggles, and only had enough money for basic necessities, but other than that, he was satisfied enough. No one in Italy knew he was a son of a Death Eater; he made a few friends and got along well with his colleagues.

Until one day, during his one of his breaks he'd sat on the beach, and feeling bored, pulled out his waiter's pad and pen and started sketching. Draco had always enjoyed drawing and painting when he was younger, and after many more breaks spent drawing he realised he still loved it and was actually good at it. From then on, Draco sacrificed meals to buy art supplies, spent all his spare time drawing and painting, and within three months, quit his waiter job to become a full time artist.

He used his savings to rent a small two-storey building in the town centre. Downstairs was his studio and make-shift gallery; upstairs was the tiny apartment that was his home. He had his own place, for the first time in his life he was doing something he loved, and there was enough money for a few luxuries like a scoop of gelato once in a while. Life was good enough for the moment.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

Harry was feeling a little lost. It was only his third day in Portovenere, and already he had seen all there was to see and he was nowhere closer to figuring out what to do with his life. He wrote Hermione a letter, as promised, then feeling bored, he decided to walk into town for some gelato.

Harry returned to the gelateria and was greeted cheerfully by the waiter who seemed to remember him. He ordered some gelato and coffee and took a seat. He pulled out one of the career guides Hermione had given him, and since he had nothing better to do, decided to read it. As he sipped his coffee, Harry cheated and skipped right to the back of the book, starting the career aptitude quiz that was thoughtfully provided.

X

Harry ticked a box and moved on to the next question- _'Would you rather research potion ingredients and their effects or analyse historical magical artefacts?'_

Trying to decide which would be worse, Harry was so engrossed in the quiz he did not realise someone had approached his table, and only paused when he heard a familiar voice.

"Finally reading something other than _Quidditch Through the Ages_, eh Potter?"

Harry looked up and almost did a double take. _Of all places_...he thought.

"Malfoy."

Draco nodded in greeting.

"How...what..." Harry paused and composed himself. "What are you doing here?"

"Getting coffee," Draco replied, holding up his to-go cup.

"I mean, in Italy. Are you living here?" Harry asked, not quite believing Malfoy was standing in front of him.

"Yes," Draco said. "Across the road, to be exact."

Harry turned in his chair. Across the tiny street, not even big enough for a car to pass, was a two storey pale yellow building. Stuck on the front glass door was a hand-written sign that read _'Opere d'arte in vendita/Artwork for sale' _

Harry studied Draco, trying to decide what to say next.

"Um, would you like to sit?" He gestured to the empty chair across him.

Draco looked at the chair for a few moments, then decided to sit. He was quite desperate for some familiar magical contact, even if it had to be Harry bloody Potter.

"So...how have you been?" Harry asked. _Damnit, this was the most awkward situation ever._

Draco was silent, a tiny frown on his face. He looked like he was thinking about how to answer a very difficult question. Harry took advantage of the silence to study him. He seemed older than the last time they met- which had been during the re-building of Hogwarts, when Harry had returned Draco's wand with a sincere 'Thanks', and they'd formed an uneasy truce of sorts while re-constructing the Astronomy Tower.

Draco was now taller, yet much thinner. His hair was cropped shorter, which made him look more mature, and his skin was still pale, though lightly tanned thanks to the Italian sunshine, which made his white-blond hair stand out even more. He was wearing a pair of old jeans and a paint-splattered white shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Harry noticed his hands, wrapped around his coffee cup, were also covered with blue paint.

"I've been...okay," Draco finally answered.

Harry blinked. _Okay? He took that long to come up with okay?_

"What about you?" Draco asked politely enough. "Unless you're reading that for fun, I assume you're in the middle of making some big decisions."

Harry followed his gaze to the career guide lying on the table.

"Oh. Yeah. I'm just... trying to figure out what's right for me," Harry answered. He reached out for the book and fiddled with the corner of the front page, the flashing gold stars distracting him momentarily. "It's not going well so far."

"I see."

They sat in silence for a few minutes, Harry not really wanting to discuss career choices.

"So, you're an artist? I can't say I saw that coming," Harry said.

Draco laughed softly to himself. "I sort of...stumbled into it."

"What do you paint? Or...draw?" Harry asked curiously.

"Well..." Draco turned in his chair and pointed to the seascape hanging on the wall of the gelateria. "I painted that."

Harry followed his finger to the painting he had admired before. "_You_ painted that?" he repeated stupidly.

Draco looked amused. "Don't be so shocked, Potter. I do have some talent, as hard as that is to believe."

"No, no, it's not that. It's just...I was actually looking at that before. It's amazing." Harry smiled. "I'm impressed, Malfoy."

"Thank you."

Another moment of silence.

Draco caught a glimpse of the time on Harry's watch and decided to return to work. He was always strict about the amount of time he let himself break.

"Speaking of work...I better head back," Draco said, standing.

"Oh...sure. Well, see you around, Malfoy," Harry replied, standing up as well.

Draco nodded. "Goodbye, Potter."

He grabbed his cup and left. Harry watched as Draco crossed the road and entered the gallery, then sat back down at his table. He tried to return his quiz, but found it hard to concentrate. When his gaze drifted over to Malfoy's gallery for the fourth time, he gave up, closing the book and leaving some money on the table. He threw his bag over his shoulder and strolled back to the boarding house, thinking about Malfoy the whole time. The last time Harry had seen him was at the official re-opening of Hogwarts. They'd shared an awkward handshake, and that was the last Harry had seen of him, until now.

X

Draco set down his paintbrush and grimaced as his stomach growled loudly. Discovering it was already dark outside, he realised he gone all day without eating, which happened regularly. He cleaned up and put away his supplies, locked the door and headed upstairs. Too tired and hungry for anything more complicated, Draco made himself a ham and salad baguette and ate hungrily.

After washing up, he packed his stuff to take to the markets the next day, then collapsed on the couch and promptly fell asleep.

X

Harry couldn't help but return to the gelateria the next day. For coffee, he told himself, and not to see Malfoy. Still, on the walk over, he found himself hoping to bump into Malfoy there. He was curious as to how the Slytherin ended up being a painter in Italy. Harry knew the Malfoy fortune and estate had been seized after the war, but at least he had helped keep Narcissa and Draco out of Azkaban. Harry realised he actually wanted to get to know this new Draco, the one who created beautiful art and did not make a single snarky comment yesterday.

Harry was disappointed when he arrived at the gelateria and spotted a 'Closed' sign hanging on the door of Draco's place. He ordered a coffee from the waiter, who by now knew him by name and sat at his usual table, pulling out a novel he'd brought along. Since he had nothing better to do, he decided to spend the afternoon reading at the quiet café.

X

Draco returned home in the late afternoon in a good mood. Thanks to a tour group of rich tourists, he'd made quite a lot at the markets today. He put away the paintings he didn't sell for the next day and kept his profits carefully. He decided to treat himself to some gelato and so he headed for his usual place across the street, groaning softly when he spotted a familiar head of black hair. Didn't Potter have better things to do on his holiday?

Trying to avoid more awkward conversation, Draco moved swiftly but quietly to the counter and whispered his order to Marco, the waiter. But he had no luck, however, because when he turned, he found Potter staring straight at him. Sighing mentally, Draco nodded and smiled politely, seizing his cup of gelato, and made to cross the road when Potter called out.

"Malfoy."

Draco made a face and cursed inwardly, but turned back.

"Potter."

"Hi. Umm...this is going to sound weird, but..." Harry looked down at the table, where he was tracing circles with his finger. "Well, I'm going to be in Portovenere for a while, so I was wondering if maybe, you have any suggestions on things to do around here?"

Draco thought for a few moments. "Do you know about Il Magia?"

Harry shook his head. "No."

"It's a wizarding town nearby. 10 minutes, if you have a broom. You can find it with a Point Me. Lots of things to do there. Have fun." Draco turned in the direction of his gallery, wanting to enjoy his rapidly-melting gelato before it turned into chocolate soup.

"Wait! What if I don't have a broom?"

Draco paused and looked back. "Then walk!"

"Why don't you come with me?" Harry asked before he realised what he was saying.

Draco stopped in his tracks. "Excuse me?" he asked, turning to face Potter.

Harry blushed. "Well, I mean, you've obviously been there before, and it'll save me a lot of time if we just Apparate."

Draco stared at Potter through narrowed eyes for a long moment, and then smirked.

"You know what? You help me do one thing tomorrow, and I'll take you to Il Magia the day after."

Potter shrugged. "Sure."

"Great," Draco replied. "Meet me here tomorrow morning, five am."

"Wait, what? Five am?"

Draco waved at Potter and smiled. "See you tomorrow."

TBC.


	4. Chapter 4

Harry woke the next morning at the ungodly hour of 4.30 am. He dressed and made his way out, feeling around in the dark, not wanting to switch on any lights and wake the other guests. It was still dark out and a little chilly, so Harry walked briskly to warm up, wishing he'd brought a jacket.

He reached the gelateria to discover it wasn't even open yet; however the lights were on in Draco's place, so he headed there.

Finding the glass door locked, Harry considered knocking before Draco appeared suddenly behind the glass, scaring him half to death.

Draco unlocked the door and opened it, stepping aside to let Harry in.

"Morning, Potter."

"Christ, Malfoy, you scared me," Harry said, walking in.

He looked around. The makeshift gallery was small, but fairly tidy. There were a few paintings hanging on the wall, and more on the floor propped up against the wall. A weathered wooden table held smaller framed watercolours and sketches.

Harry saw Draco disappear through a small open doorway to his left.

"Through here," Draco called over his shoulder.

Harry followed him and found himself in another room. This one was messier and unorganised. Easels held unfinished paintings of all sizes, in varying stages of completion. There was a large concrete table covered in paint splatters, jars of paintbrushes, tubes of paint and stacks of paper. Draco was rifling through a stack of paintings leaning against a wall. He pulled out two and held them up.

"Which one?" he asked.

Harry, who was admiring one of the unfinished paintings, turned around.

"Huh?"

"Which one do you like better?" Draco asked.

Harry studied them. One was a square canvas depicting some of the colourful houses by the beach, the other was a rectangular one showing a close up view of the waves breaking on the shore.

"Umm, that one, I guess," Harry said, pointing to the houses.

Draco examined it. "Hmm. Yes, I think so too."

He added it to the pile of paintings already stacked on a chair, then looked at Harry pointedly.

"Aren't you here to help?"

"Right. What do you want me to do?"

Draco gestured to a pile of plastic wrapping on the floor, then to the chair. "Wrap up those paintings. Carefully."

Harry got to work, while Draco sorted through a carton at the table. When he was done, Draco loaded the paintings, the carton, as well as a small folding table onto a flat trolley, and secured everything with rope.

"Right, let's go. You take the trolley. If anything happens to my paintings, you're paying for it."

"Where..."

"You'll see soon enough," Draco interrupted.

Harry pushed the trolley out carefully, while Draco switched off the lights and locked the door behind him. Harry followed Draco down the street, concentrating on his load. It was no easy task, controlling the old, rickety trolley down a sloped cobblestone road, especially since it was dark and he could barely see where his next step was. Draco strolled easily ahead of him, hands in his pockets.

Soon they arrived at the boardwalk by the beach, and Harry was surprised to find it crowded at such an early hour. The sky was beginning to lighten, and he realised these people were here setting up the markets. Draco led him down the boardwalk, finally stopping at an empty spot next to a man setting up a bread stall.

Harry helped Draco unload the things from the trolley. They spread out a sheet on the ground, un-wrapped the paintings, opened up the table and arranged the artwork on them, also using the trolley as a display stand. Draco pulled out some small framed works out of the carton and spread them around. As they worked, Draco chatted to the bread seller in fluent Italian.

"Chi è il tuo amico, Draco?"* he asked, grinning cheerfully.

"Fatti gli affair tuoi, Signor Conti," Draco replied.

The bread seller chuckled, then tossed two bread rolls to Draco.

"Grazie," Draco called out, throwing Harry one. "Breakfast of champions, Potter."

Finished setting up, they sat down cross-legged on the ground, eating their breakfast. The rolls were deliciously warm and soft, and Harry guessed they'd probably been freshly baked that morning.

"So, you do this often?" Harry asked.

"Yeah, in the summer or whenever I need cash badly," Draco replied, taking a bite out of his roll.

They sat in silence, eating, until Draco spoke.

"The markets open at sunrise," he said, eyes gazing out towards the sea.

Harry followed his gaze, and couldn't help gasping. The sky was streaked pink and orange and the sun looked like it was emerging from the sea, the golden rays reflected in the shimmering waves.

"This was totally worth waking up at 4.30am," Harry whispered.

Draco laughed, and Harry turned to look at him, surprised to hear him laugh genuinely. He caught a flash of Draco's perfectly straight teeth, white in the sun, and looked away.

The markets filled up quickly with people soon after that. Harry noticed Draco's art were targeted at tourists looking for a pretty souvenir, as his stall attracted mainly foreigners. Within two hours they sold a few pieces. By noon, Harry realised it wasn't easy work, between dealing with haggling, obnoxious tourists, his cramped legs and the scorching sun. Malfoy, the bugger, had even left him alone for an hour to sell his artworks, while he skipped off to a café to have a cappuccino.

In between customers, as Harry people-watched, Draco pulled out a small sketchbook and a pencil and began to sketch. Harry happened to glance at Draco and leaned over to look.

"What are you drawing?"

Draco started and snapped the sketchbook shut.

"What? Nothing."

Harry pulled away. "Oh. Sorry."

Draco stood. "Um, I think we can start packing up. We've sold quite a bit already."

Harry nodded. "Okay, sure."

They packed up the remaining goods silently, and Draco said goodbye to his friend the bread-seller, leaving Harry to push the trolley again. They walked back slowly, the _clack-clack_ of the trolley wheels on the cobblestones filling the somewhat uncomfortable silence.

They arrived back at the gallery and Harry returned the trolley back to Draco's studio.

"So, Potter," Draco said. "I'll see you here tomorrow at 10 am. Don't be late."

"What's happening tomorrow?" Harry asked, confused.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Did you forget about my end of the deal? I'm supposed to take you to Il Magia."

Harry blushed. "Oh, right. I forgot. I'll see you tomorrow, then."

Draco nodded once and turned to deal with something at his table, which Harry took as a cue to leave. After he heard the front door close, Draco sighed explosively and tried hard not to think about how adorable Harry looked when he blushed.

TBC

A/N: I used Google translator for the Italian dialogue, so I'm not sure if it is accurate. If there's anyone who speaks Italian who can correct it, let me know! Thanks! X

_* Who's your friend, Draco?_

_Mind your own business, Signor Conti._


	5. Chapter 5

Harry woke early the next day, feeling oddly nervous. He still had time before he had to leave, but he studied the limited choices of clothes he'd packed, with that anticipatory feeling he only got when he was about to go on a date.

_Don't be stupid, _he thought to himself, _it's only Malfoy._

Finally, he settled on a clean pair of jeans and a simple white polo shirt. He attempted to tame his hair and gave up. At quarter to 10, he left the house and headed to Draco's place.

When he arrived, he was surprised to see Draco already waiting outside, looking like a picture from a catalogue. He was wearing a pale blue linen shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and a pair of tan khakis. His hair was glinting brightly under the warm sun and he was leaning, arms crossed, against a Vespa.

Draco smirked when he spotted Harry.

"Right on time, Potter, I'm impressed."

"Morning," Harry answered, his eyes still on the scooter. "We're not...taking that, are we?"

Draco blinked innocently. "Would you rather walk?"

"No, I thought we were Apparating."

Draco stared at Harry. "I can't Apparate," he said, as though he was stating an obvious fact.

"What?"

"I was a little...preoccupied during sixth year," Draco replied with a wry smile. "I never really learned how to do it."

"Oh. But still, can we both fit onto there?" Harry eyed the scooter. "It looks..."

"I know it's old, but it works perfectly fine," Draco cut in, sounding defensive.

"Um, all right, then."

Harry watched as Draco hopped on and started the engine, then looked at Harry at nodded towards the remaining seat space behind him. Harry climbed on awkwardly, and not knowing where to place his hands, gripped the underside of the seat. He was uncomfortably aware of the rather...suggestive position they happened to be in.

"Hold on tight, Potter," Draco warned, and kicked up the stopper.

The scooter jerked sharply as it went over the curb, and Harry's hands flew to grip something more stabilised...namely, Draco's waist.

"Oh, I- I'm sorry," Harry stammered, and started to remove his hands.

"Leave them, Potter, if it makes you feel safer," Draco drawled, eyes on the road, "I'd hate to be the one to tell the wizarding world that their saviour died by falling off a Vespa."

Harry scowled, but left his hands where they were. "Prat," he muttered under his breath.

"Scarhead," Draco shot back, but without any heat.

They drove on in silence along a long road by the sea for about twenty minutes, before Draco directed the Vespa onto a smaller road on the left. As they passed through a row of trees, Harry felt a shimmer of protective wards, and suddenly he was in a postcard, because that was exactly what Il Magia looked like.

They were in a bustling village square, in the middle of which stood a fountain depicting a centaur, water streaming out of the bow and arrow he was pointing skyward. Beyond that, Harry could see a small cobblestone street lined with shops. There were cafés and small stalls lining the central square, filled with witches and wizards enjoying the glorious weather.

Harry hopped off the Vespa as Draco stopped it, and surveyed the little town as Draco secured his scooter with some charms.

"There you go, lots of things to do," Draco said, flinging out an arm, "I assume you can Apparate back, so, goodbye." He started to walk off towards a strip of shops.

"Malfoy, wait!" Harry called out.

Draco turned, an expectant look on his face.

"Do you want to get some breakfast? I haven't eaten yet, so if you'd like to..." Harry gestured to a nearby café. "My treat."

Draco surveyed Harry for a few long moments, then shrugged. "Whatever. If you're paying."

He headed towards the café, leaving Harry to follow him. They sat and ordered food and coffee. Draco began to regret accepting Potter's offer as they waited for their food in awkward silence. Draco hated awkward silences.

"So, what made you come to Italy?" he asked.

Harry frowned a little. "Just needed a holiday."

"Judging from the book you were reading, I'm assuming it's a soul-searching, what-should-i-do-with-my-life type of holiday," Draco replied.

Harry rolled his eyes, but grinned. "You were always too smart for your own good."

"Great Merlin, Potter just paid me a compliment."

"Stuff it, Malfoy."

"And he's back to being an eloquent git."

"I have to buy some supplies," Draco said as they left the café.

"I'll come with you."

"Really, Potter, you don't have to stick with me. There are plenty of other shops around. There's a Quidditch shop just up that road," Draco said, pointing to the narrow street opposite.

Harry avoided his eyes, his jaw set. "I don't need any Quidditch things. It's fine, I'll just come with you."

Draco shrugged. "Fine."

He turned and headed towards a little shop selling art supplies, leaving Harry to follow. As Draco wandered around the store, picking out things and chatting to the shopkeeper, Harry studied the various artworks hanging on the walls around the shop.

As Draco headed to the cashier to pay, Harry watched as he paused by a display cabinet, gazing at a wooden box holding a set of paintbrushes. Harry noticed the price tag by the box and raised his eyebrows. It seemed like quite a bit of money for a few brushes.

The shopkeeper, an elderly man with a moustache, said something in Italian and Draco replied, reaching out to stroke the handle of one of the paintbrushes. He paid for his items and they exited the shop.

"Where else do you want to go?" Draco asked, as he shrank down his purchases and slipped them into a pocket.

Harry shrugged. "Probably just wander around here for a little longer."

Draco glanced at his watch. "I have to take off. I have this commissioned painting due this weekend and it still needs quite a lot of work. You can get back on your own, right?"

"Oh...sure."

"Okay." Draco turned and headed off to the outskirts of the town where he parked his Vespa, and Harry felt slightly disappointed as he watched him leave.

Harry spent a couple more hours exploring Il Magia, checking out all the little streets and shops. He passed by the Quidditch shop, where a group of teenage boys were crowded around the window, chattering excitedly in Italian. Harry looked past them and saw a sleek, shiny racing broom in the display. An image of roaring fire flashed briefly in his mind, and he quickly pushed the thought away, closing his eyes and walking on. He ended up by the sea, and took a seat on a low stone wall by the beach. He couldn't help thinking about Malfoy yet again, wondering about his ex-nemesis' life in the tiny Italian seaside town. Never in a million years would he have pictured Draco working as an artist, living among Muggles and barely making enough to get by. And yet, he seemed happier than Harry had ever seen him. Harry couldn't deny his growing attraction to the blond. Draco had always been one of the handsomest boys at Hogwarts, and Harry had known he was gay since Oliver Wood had drunkenly kissed him at one of the post-war parties and Harry knew in that moment he didn't want to get back with Ginny, now or ever.

After a few more moments staring at the sea, thoughts about Draco, Ginny, the war and Italy swirling around in his head, Harry got off the wall and decided to Apparate back. He passed a young couple sitting further down on the wall, wrapped up in each other, and smiled.

Later that afternoon, Harry found himself outside Draco's place. He studied the sign advertising artwork for sale while he debated going in or not. Finally, he reached for the doorknob, pushed it open and entered. The gallery area was empty, so Harry headed into the studio. Draco was seated at one of the easels painting, with his back to the door. Harry stood there nervously for a moment, then cleared his throat.

Draco jumped, his paintbrush clattering to the floor as he twisted around on his seat.

"Fuck, Potter, don't you know how to knock?" he asked, hand coming up over his heart.

Harry apologised and reached down to pick up the brush. He handed it back to Draco who took it with a wary look.

"Can I help you?" Draco asked. He had a spot of green paint on the tip of his nose.

"Would you like to go on a date with me?" Harry blurted out, then cringed. His voice sounded horribly loud. Draco's eyes widened, but he didn't say anything.

"Um, I mean...dinner? Tomorrow night?" Harry asked, considerably softer.

Draco looked down at his hands, which were twisting his paintbrush round and round. "I'm busy tomorrow night," he said quietly.

"Oh..."Harry said. "Never mind. Forget I asked, I jus-,"

"How about tonight?" Draco cut in.

Harry smiled. "Okay. I'll come by at seven."

Draco nodded. Harry turned to leave, but paused as Draco called out, "Potter?"

Harry looked back.

"Don't be late."

_A/N- I'm so sorry for such infrequent updates, but Summer is a work in progress, and I'm updating it as I write it. Lately I haven't had much time to write, and the muse hasn't been cooperating either. Thanks for being patient, and for reading and reviewing! xx_


	6. Chapter 6

Harry and Draco strolled through the streets, which were bustling with nightlife, after their dinner. Draco has taken him to a little café tucked away in one of the tiny streets, where Harry had enjoyed the best Italian meal he'd ever had. They had been people-watching in companionable silence while they waited for the food when Draco finally spoke up.

"Why did you ask me out?" he asked quietly, fiddling with the stem of his wine glass.

Harry shrugged uncomfortably. "I guess…I want to get to know you better." He glanced up at Draco, who was watching him with a curious look. "You seem…so different. Happy."

Draco lifted a brow. "I didn't seem happy in Hogwarts?"

Harry suppressed a laugh. "You were a little menace, and you know it. And the past few years…I don't think any of us were very happy."

Draco nodded, remembering his last two years at school.

"I am happy. Far happier than I ever was in England," Draco said.

"Do you ever think about going back?"

Draco studied the tabletop for a long moment, then looked up and shrugged. "I don't know. Right now, I'm perfectly content with my life here. I love this place, and my house. I may be poor but I'm happy." He laughed. "What a cliché, right?"

"I think it's great you found something you love to do. I wish I could say the same thing."

Draco looked up from his pasta. "Not an Auror, then?"

"Not an Auror, or a Healer, or a Professor, or…a Quidditch player."

Draco gave him a strange look but didn't press further. They spent dinner discussing Harry's plans for the rest of his holiday, and when the bill came, Harry insisted on paying, despite Draco's slight protests.

They reached the now-familiar gelateria, which was the busiest Harry had ever seen it. Draco led him in and declared he was treating Harry to dessert.

"I'll have the mint choc chip, please," Harry said, ordering his favourite flavour.

Draco snorted. "What are you, a child, Potter? He'll have the Gianduja. And I'll have the Stracciatella, please."

Harry tried the gelato as Draco paid, and was pleasantly surprised by the creamy combination of milk chocolate and hazelnut. They crossed the street to Draco's place and entered, Draco unlocking the door and flicking on the lights as Harry held both cups of gelato. Harry noticed a new painting sitting on the floor of the gallery. It was different than most of Draco's other paintings, an abstract riot of colours, splashes and drips.

"Is that the commission you were talking about?" Harry asked, passing Draco back his gelato.

"Yeah. It's for a hotel," Draco replied, eyeing the artwork critically.

"Wow. That's a big deal."

Draco smiled faintly.

"Do you want to go upstairs? It's a little more comfortable than here," Draco said, leading Harry to the stairs at the back of the room.

"I'm warning you, it's not much," Draco said over his shoulder as they headed up. Harry tried his hardest not to stare at Draco's, admittedly, fit arse.

They emerged into a tiny but neat living room, containing a threadbare couch and a small table, with a small kitchenette tucked in a corner. A door led into a bedroom that looked to be half the size of the living room.

"This is... great," Harry said.

Draco shot him a wry look. "Don't kid yourself, Potter."

"No, really! It's cosy."

Harry wandered over to the wall opposite the kitchenette, where Draco had assembled a collage of sorts, made up of postcards, photos and sketches tacked to the wall. In the middle of the pictures was a small framed painting of the exact same view Harry had seen in the window of the travel agency, the same moment he decided to come to Portovenere. The bright colours looked even more vivid in contrast to the black frame. Harry was studying it so intently he didn't realise when Draco came up to stand behind him.

"That was the first piece I did when I decided to become a full-time artist," Draco said.

Harry turned to look at him. "It's really beautiful, Draco."

Draco lifted a brow slightly at the use of his first name, but murmured, "Thanks."

He left Harry studying his art wall and returned to his couch. There was a piece of paper sitting on the table along with a few sticks of charcoal. Draco picked up a charcoal stick and rubbed it on the paper until it made a little pile of charcoal dust. He dipped his finger in it and dragged it along the paper, leaving behind a smudged black trail.

He turned to look at Harry, who was still standing by the wall.

"I have to be up really early tomorrow. I'm going to the markets."

"Oh, sure. I should probably head back anyway."

They headed back downstairs and Harry paused when they reached the door, turning to Draco.

"I had a nice time tonight."

"Surprisingly, so did I."

Before he could stop and think about what he was doing, Harry leaned in a pressed a kiss to Draco's cheek. He pulled back and murmured, "Goodnight, Draco," before pulling back and leaving.

Draco stood at his open door in shock, watching Harry's retreating back disappear into the darkness. It was a long time before he could pull himself together to lock up the building.

X

Draco fell out of bed at 4 am the next morning as his wand alarm buzzed. He had been unable to sleep the previous night, tossing and turning and thinking about his date with Harry.

_Why did Harry ask him out? Does Harry like him? Does he want a relationship?_

His head was swirling with thoughts as he splashed water on his face and got changed, then headed downstairs to pack his things. He managed to get down to the boardwalk on time and set up, then cajoled a small loaf of olive bread for breakfast out of his friend, Signor Conti.

During a break in-between customers, Draco pulled out the sketchbook that had permanent residence in his pocket and begin sketching, when a shadow fell over his little stall. He looked up and was greeted by the sight of Harry holding a takeaway coffee cup.

"Hello," Harry said, passing Draco the coffee.

"Hi," Draco replied, standing slowly and grimacing as he stretched his cramped legs.

"Thanks," he said as he accepted the coffee.

"Busy morning?" Harry asked.

"Yeah."

"Do you need some help?" Harry asked, bringing a hand up over his eyes to shield them from the bright sun.

Draco stared at him. Harry was being nice and kind and it had been a long time since Draco felt wanted. They had both changed since the war and they got along well. It couldn't hurt to see where this went.

"No, it's fine. I'm probably going to pack up soon and head home."

"Okay," Harry replied with a smile. "I'll see you soon."

"Potter, wait!" Draco called out as Harry started to walk away. "Meet me tomorrow at my place, 11 o'clock. There's somewhere I want to take you."

X

Draco finished loading the storage box fixed to the back of his Vespa as Harry arrived.

"Hello."

"Hi." Draco closed the lid of the storage box. "Ready to go?"

Harry nodded. "Where are you taking me?"

Draco grinned. "That's a surprise."

Thirty minutes later, they arrived a small grassy clearing by a cliff overlooking the sea. It was a hot day, and they air was still, only broken by the crash of waves against the rocks every so often.

"This is a great spot," Harry said to Draco, who was rummaging around in his scooter's box. "Is it magical?"

"No, but not many people come here. Except me. I come here to sketch. It's nice and quiet."

Harry nodded and walked to the edge of the cliff. He glimpsed the top of some of the buildings in town, but there wasn't a sign of any other people. When he turned back, he found Draco holding two broomsticks. Harry felt his heart sink.

Draco held out a broom to Harry with an eager smile. "I also come here to fly. Have you ever flown over the sea? There's nothing like it."

Harry took a deep breath. "Draco...I can't fly."

Draco's smile turned into a confused look as he lowered the broom. "What do you mean?"

"Ever since...the war, I haven't been able to fly," Harry said.

Draco nodded. "The Room of Requi-,"

"Yes," Harry said, cutting him off before he could picture the fire-ravaged room in his mind. "I haven't been able to get on a broom since."

Draco stood there in silence for a few moments before shrinking the brooms back down and tossing them back into the Vespa's box.

"I'm sorry I ruined your plan," Harry apologised.

"No, Potter, it's fine. Good think I have something else planned." He pulled out a small basket and enlarged it with a flick of his wand. He brought it over to a grassy patch and sat.

Harry joined him with a small smile. "I'm glad you weren't affected. By the..."

"Yeah, I know,"Draco said simply. He pulled out two small loaves of bread, some cheese and a tiny jar of olives. After some hesitation, he also took out a small bar of expensive-looking chocolate.

"This looks great!" Harry said in an overly bright tone, feeling horribly guilty about ruining Draco's surprise.

"From your friend at the markets?" Harry asked as he took a bite of the bread.

Draco nodded as he cut a slice of cheese. "Good?"

"Excellent," Harry said. "The food here is amazing."

"You should try this restaurant in town, Pomodoro di Oro. Best pasta I've ever had."

"Sounds great." Harry glanced up at Draco. "Would you like to go, tomorrow night?"

Draco shrugged. "Sure, I guess."

They finished up their lunch and Harry packed the remaining food back into the basket as Draco eyed his chocolate sadly.

"It was a Christmas gift. I've been saving it. I haven't had chocolate in ages," Draco said, stroking the wrapper of the bar.

Harry watched him in amusement, but also slightly in pity. Draco obviously loved chocolate, but couldn't afford to buy it regularly.

"We don't have to eat it. Why don't you save it and have it some other time?" Harry suggested gently.

Draco gave him a forlorn look. "It's about to expire."

Harry couldn't help but burst out laughing. He toppled over backwards onto the grass and laughed until his stomach hurt.

"Potter! You insensitive git, stop laughing!" Draco exclaimed angrily.

"I'm sorry," Harry managed to say as he sat up, catching his breath. "You just looked like someone died."

"My chocolate is about to die," Draco replied. "Oh, screw this."

He ripped open the wrapper, broke off a piece and popped it into his mouth. The look on his face was one of pure satisfaction, and he moaned loudly. Harry shifted uncomfortably.

"Oh, I've missed you," Draco said, breaking off another piece and nibbling at it. He held out the bar and offered some to Harry, who broke off a tiny piece, wanting to leave as much as possible for Draco.

They stayed for another hour, Draco laying back on the grass and enjoying his chocolate while Harry amused himself by conjuring up paper aeroplanes and flying them out over the sea.

After returning to Draco's place, they made plans to meet the following night and Harry strolled back to the boarding house with a wide smile.

TBC.

**A/N- **_This will be the last chapter of Summer for a while. I'm afraid I don't have much time at the moment to write fic- I'm a full time uni student with two jobs. I promise I'll start updating again in November once my semester's over, and this fic should be completed by the end of the year. In the meantime, my series of ficlets, Polaroids, should be updated fairly regularly. Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! xx_


	7. Chapter 7

The next afternoon, Harry and some other guests of the boarding house were learning how to bake bread under the supervision of Elena when Alessandro stuck his head into the kitchen.

"Signor Potter, there is a man looking for you," he said.

Harry brushed his flour-covered hands on his apron as he followed Alessandro to the front door, where he found Draco looking around the patio curiously.

"Draco? What are you doing here? I thought we were meeting later tonight."

"Yes, we are, Potter, but there's somewhere I want to bring you first," Draco said. He eyed Harry's pink flowered apron (Elena didn't own any masculine coloured aprons, unfortunately) with interest. "Unless you're busy in the kitchen?"

"Um, no. I'm sure the rest can continue without me. Give me a moment to get changed, alright?"

Harry left Draco on the patio chatting to Alessandro as he raced upstairs, put on a clean shirt and nice trousers and tried to settle his hair into some semblance of order. Upon returning downstairs, he noted Draco was dressed in nicer clothing than usual. He wondered if the restaurant they planned on going to was fancy. They bid Alessandro goodbye and headed off.

"I didn't bring my Vespa with me," Draco explained as he led Harry down a quiet side street. "I thought since you know where Il Magia is now, you could Apparate us."

"Oh! Sure."

Draco looked at him expectantly, and Harry realised he meant now. He glanced around the street and finding it deserted, stepped closer to Draco and brought an arm up to wrap around his waist. He was close enough to see the tiny, faint freckles on Draco's nose. Draco looked at him with wide grey eyes as they disappeared with a crack.

They landed in Il Magia's central square. Draco stepped out of Harry's loose embrace and started walking, Harry hurrying after him. They came to a stop in front of a nondescript door in one of the streets full of shops. There were some Italian words painted on the door, but Harry didn't have time to register what it said before Draco pushed the door open and entered. They headed up a long flight of stairs and entered a bright reception area. Draco headed to a woman seated behind a desk and spoke to her in Italian while Harry studied his surroundings. He felt something akin to dread as he looked at the large pictures of broomsticks and autographed photos of Quidditch players hanging on the walls.

A moment later, a young, handsome man entered the room and smiled brightly upon seeing Draco.

"Draco, amico mio!" the man called out cheerfully and greeted Draco with a friendly kiss on the cheek. "Come stai?"

"Sto bene," Draco answered with a smile. He gestured Harry forward and switched to English.

"This is Harry Potter," he introduced. "Potter, this is my friend Roberto de Cielo."

Roberto shook Harry's hand enthusiastically. "Signor Potter, I have heard much about you."

"Please, call me Harry. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise," Roberto replied, inclining his head. Harry couldn't help but like him already; his easy smile and cheerful disposition was infectious.

Draco stepped closer and murmured something to Roberto in Italian, who nodded. "Please, come with me," he said, leading Harry and Draco down a corridor. They took an elevator down and emerged into what looked like a huge workshop. Several people were working at large wooden tables covered in pieces of wood and metal. There were piles of sticks everywhere. Broomsticks in various states of completion were hanging on the walls. Detailed diagrams of brooms were tacked to a large board on the wall. A large silver machine in the corner was spitting out steam as an annoyed-looking wizard pointed a wand at it.

Harry looked around in wonder, taking in everything before looking at Draco. "What is this place?"

"Our workshop," Roberto replied simply.

"Roberto's family founded and owns the De Cielo racing broom company," Draco explained. "Surely you've heard of them?"

Of course Harry had heard of De Cielo brooms. They were the wizard equivalent of Italian sports cars and each of their brooms cost three times as much as a Firebolt.

"Of course I have," Harry said. He looked around and shook his head. "I had no idea your workshop was here in Portovenere."

"Well, our main offices and workshop are actually in Milan. But we recently decided to open a second one, so here I am," Roberto said.

He took Harry on a tour around the workshop, showing him how they made the brooms and how things worked. He introduced him to the head broom designer and left them talking in a corner of the room.

"So, Harry Potter has a fear of flying, huh?" Roberto said, chatting to Draco over a cup of coffee.

"Keep your voice down. And remember I swore you to secrecy," Draco replied. He glanced over at Harry, who was nodding as the designer gestured at a diagram of a broom. "I'm glad he didn't have a panic attack as soon as he walked in."

Roberto glanced between Harry and Draco as he sipped his latte. "You like him."

Draco frowned. "Don't be ridiculous."

"Why did you bring him here, then? You were hoping he would freak out about being in the same room as a broom, leave and never speak to you again? Or perhaps you think if he could just learn more about how a broom is made, there is nothing to be scared of? Ti piace, Draco," Roberto repeated.

Draco thought about Roberto's words as they Apparated back to town and walked to the restaurant. Harry was talking excitedly about the things he learned from the designer and Draco nodded absent-mindedly, half-listening.

"-never knew that was what controlled the speed! And the designs for the new Velocita racing broom look amazing. Thanks for bringing me there, Draco."

Draco jolted back to attention at the mention of his name. "Oh. You're welcome. It wasn't too...uncomfortable for you?"

Harry shook his head. "I'm fine. I think it only really hits me if I actually...get on a broom."

They reached the restaurant, Pomodoro di Oro, a fairly upscale place in the middle of town. They were shown to a table and Harry opened the menu, studying it hungrily.

"You don't need to read that?" Harry asked, noticing Draco didn't even glance at his menu.

"Oh, I already know what I want."

"Do you come here often?"

Draco shook his head as he took a sip of water. "I used to work here. Before I decided to become an artist."

"So, what would recommend?"

Draco smiled and opened his menu.

"So, Roberto seems like a great guy," Harry said conversationally after they ordered.

"He is," Draco replied. "He helped me out a lot when I first moved here and was practically broke."

"How did you two meet?"

"He's a regular customer at this restaurant. One day he caught me after my shift using magic, told me he was a wizard too and we got to talking and became friends. He offered to lend me money, but I always refused, so he would find me odd jobs to earn some extra cash, then got all his friends to buy art from me after I quit being a waiter. And now I do some broom testing for him. Helps pay the rent."

Harry cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Did you too ever...date?"

Draco smiled and raised an eyebrow. "He wanted to. But I made it clear I was only interested in him as a friend, and he knows that now."

Harry nodded, feeling slightly relieved.

After dinner, which was as good as Draco promised, Harry walked him back to his place. As Draco unlocked his front door, Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out the shrunken package he'd purchased that morning in town.

"This is for you," he said, re-sizing it and handing it to Draco.

Draco looked surprised as he took it. "What is it?"

Harry smiled. "Open it and see."

He ripped off the brown paper and pulled out five large bars of chocolate with a gasp. "Potter, you bought me chocolate!"

"Well, you were so upset about eating that other bar yesterday, and I felt bad for laughing at you."

Draco looked up at Harry, smiling shyly. "Thank you...Harry."

Harry's eyes widened at the use of his first name. He stood still on Draco's front step and didn't even have time to react as Draco leaned in and kissed his cheek.

"See you soon," Draco murmured, entering the building and shooting Harry another smile over his shoulder.

X

Harry laid in bed that night with a huge grin on his face. He couldn't get Draco's smiling face out his mind. He reached up and touched his cheek.

_Draco__kissed__me!_He thought delightedly, then shook his head with a laugh. _Listen__to__yourself,__Potter,__you__sound__like__a__first-year__Hufflepuff._

And yet he couldn't remember ever feeling like this before, not even after his first kiss with Ginny. But he couldn't help but wonder where this was going. Was he dating Draco? How would this relationship work if they didn't even live in the same country? With that thought, Harry sighed and drifted off to sleep.

TBC


End file.
